Aven #3
I look at Soren. His eyes are barely open, but he's awake enough to hear the question.
Awake enough to answer it with the faintest pressure of his fingers around Cain's sleeve, then a slow reach toward me with his other hand.
He can't give much. He shouldn't give much.
The fact that he wants to makes my chest ache.
"Yes," I say again, and this time the word holds. "All of you. Carefully. No one gets to be heroic with a puncture wound or a hollowed soul. That includes every idiot in this bed, and yes, I'm counting myself."
Ira keeps one hand at my jaw until my eyes focus on his, while Cain stays behind me with his arm locked around my waist, and Soren reaches for the hem of my shirt only after I manage to nod.
The fabric comes off slowly. Soren’s hands are careful as he pulls it over my head, his fingers brushing my ribs on the way down.
Cain keeps me leaned back against his chest the whole time, one arm banded around my waist while his free hand slides up my stomach once the shirt is gone.
Ira’s thumb strokes once across my cheekbone.
His eyes stay on my face the entire time.
“Still with me?” Ira asks, low and steady.
“Yes.”
He nods once, then leans in and kisses me.
It is deep and controlled, his tongue sliding against mine while his hand stays firm at my jaw.
Behind me, Cain’s mouth finds the side of my neck.
He kisses there slowly, lips dragging over skin, and his hand on my stomach spreads wider, thumb stroking just above my navel.
Soren’s hands move down my chest, palms hot as they map over my skin, but Ira is the one who handles the rest. He undresses me while Cain keeps me upright, his free hand sliding along my hip.
I’m naked between them before I fully register the cool air on my skin.
Ira’s hand moves from my jaw down my chest. He rests his palm flat over my heart for a moment, then slides lower.
His fingers wrap around my cock in one slow, deliberate stroke.
The friction is immediate and grounding.
I make a soft sound and my hips twitch forward.
Cain’s arm tightens around my waist in response, holding me steady while Ira strokes me again, thumb dragging over the head on the upstroke.
“Look at me,” Ira says. His voice is low but clear. “Breathe with me. In. Hold. Out. Stay right here.”
I do. His hand keeps working me in that same steady rhythm while Cain’s mouth stays at my neck, kissing and breathing against my skin.
Soren shifts closer on my left and takes my hand in his.
His fingers lace with mine and squeeze once, then his free hand rests on my thigh, palm warm and steady.
He does not move higher yet. He simply stays there, feeding warmth through the bond every time my breath catches.
Ira leans in and kisses me again, deeper this time, while his hand never stops stroking. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. “I want to use my mouth,” he says. “Can I?”
“Yes,” I answer. The word comes out rough. “Please.”
He moves down between my thighs. He takes me into his mouth in one slow motion, tongue and suction working together while his hand stays at the base.
The wet heat of it makes my back arch against Cain’s chest. Cain’s arm tightens around my waist immediately, holding me in place, while his free hand slides up to my chest. His thumb brushes over one nipple in slow circles, matching the rhythm of Ira’s mouth.
Soren’s hand stays in mine, his thumb stroking small circles over my knuckles.
Ira works me with focused patience. He takes me deep, then pulls back, tongue swirling around the head before he sinks down again.
Every time my hips try to lift, Cain’s arm holds me steady against him.
I can feel the low, steady pulse of Cain’s blood magic moving through the contact at my back, cool and anchoring, filling the hollow spaces without overwhelming them.
Soren leans in and kisses the side of my neck, his mouth warm and careful.
When I start to get close, Ira pulls off. He looks up at me, lips wet, breathing a little harder. “Not yet,” he says. “We are not done.”
I nod, still catching my breath. “I want you inside me.”
Ira’s gaze flicks to Cain behind me, then back to my face. “How do you want it?”
“Against Cain,” I say. “I want to feel both of you.”
Cain shifts without needing to be asked. He reclines back against the pillows and pulls me with him so my back stays pressed to his chest, his legs bracketing mine. One of his hands slides down to hold my hip while the other stays over my heart. “I have you,” he murmurs against my hair.
Ira moves between my thighs again. He coats himself with the slick oil and lines up, the thick head of his cock pressing against me. He does not push in right away. He waits until I meet his eyes.
“You are choosing this,” he says.
“I am,” I answer. “I want you.”
He sinks into me slowly. The stretch is intense at first, then settles into a heavy, grounding fullness as he presses forward inch by careful inch.
My body clenches around him and a low sound slips out of me.
Cain’s arm tightens around my waist immediately, holding me open and steady against his chest while Ira bottoms out.
For a moment none of us move. I can feel every inch of him inside me, the solid weight of his body between my legs, the steady beat of his breath.
Ira starts to thrust. Slow at first. Deep.
Controlled. Every movement is deliberate, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that grinds against that spot inside me with every stroke.
Cain moves with us, his body rocking gently against my back in time with Ira’s thrusts.
His hand on my chest slides lower until it joins the rhythm, stroking me in time with the movement inside me.
Soren stays at my side, his hand still in mine, his other hand resting on my thigh.
He leans in and kisses me, messy and a little desperate, while the faint thread of his warmth keeps moving through the bond.
The pleasure builds thick and steady. Every thrust from Ira, every stroke from Cain’s hand, every kiss from Soren fills the hollow places a little more.
The bond closes around us like a warm circuit, present and alive.
I can feel Cain’s cleared emptiness easing under the contact.
I can feel Ira’s careful strength. I can feel Soren refusing to let exhaustion stop him from being here.
I come apart with all three of them holding me in place, my body clenching around Ira while the bond floods warm instead of empty, and for once nothing is being taken from me.
Afterward, the room isn't fixed, but it's warmer.
That's the best word I have for it. Warmth in the sheets.
Warmth in Cain's body behind mine, his hand spread over my chest like he's still counting every beat.
Warmth in Ira's thigh against my leg and the careful pressure of his fingers at my hip, even though his bandage has bled through again and I'm absolutely going to make that everyone's problem once I can move.
Warmth in Soren's sleeping weight near my side, his face turned toward us, his breath steadier than it was downstairs.
The bond is quieter. I can still feel Cain when his fingers twitch against my chest at a sound from the street, when his breath catches before he remembers no one in this room is ordering him to hold it. Ira notices every time, his hand finding Cain's back.
The spirits outside the wards are quieter too, hovering beyond the windows and along the edge of the shop, waiting with the exhausted patience of people who've waited through worse.
I can feel the ones from the compound like dim candles in the rain.
They're not pushing now. Maybe they understand I'll come back to them. Maybe they're only tired.
Downstairs, Gabriel's food is going cold.
Hugo's warning is still on my phone. The back door is still crooked, the front display is still broken, and the world outside is already smoothing over the place where the compound burned.
Soren is asleep again. Ira is bleeding through a bandage and pretending less convincingly by the minute.
Cain is freer than he was when we dragged him through the door, but freedom hasn't taught his body what to do with sudden noises yet.
I press my hand over Cain's where it rests against my chest. His fingers shift beneath mine, then settle. He kisses the back of my head, a small, careful touch that says thank you without making him spend the words again.
Rescue wasn't the end of the cage.
I understand that now with the bitter clarity of a man lying in the middle of the people he loves while ghosts wait outside and the Church rewrites the news before morning.
We broke the locks. We killed the jailer.
We came home alive, which isn't small, but Cain still has rooms inside him that don't know the door is open, and Soren has a folded piece of paper in his pocket that keeps catching the edge of my attention like a hook.
I don't ask about it yet. Cain's breathing is still rough behind me, Ira's hand is still heavy across us, and Soren is asleep with blood dried under his nose and one hand curled in the blanket.
The active residue is out. That's the only victory I can hold tonight without dropping it.